


Father McCracken's Downtown Jug Champions

by 3amepiphany



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10104884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: A @savewoygiftexchange goodie for AgentB/Woyreviews.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentBengalTiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentBengalTiger/gifts).



> This was only linked to on Tumblr, I never actually put the full text there. Forgive me for that if it seems awkward, as I know we're all used to me putting the story up here with a link to it's original publishing over there, but I really wanted to present it by its title because it's a pertinent reference.

He adjusted the strap on his banjo and approached the little box-office counter, doffing his Hat to the lady behind it and announcing that he was checking in, and was unsure of where it was he needed to be at the moment. Could she help him?

The Wayahan smiled down at him like a warm sunbeam on a summer day and nodded, saying, “Welcome to the Boilin’ Springs Music Festival, Mr. Tumbleweed, I have your information packet right here, and your performer badge, too. You’re gonna head right on through the gate and head straight on over to the big round buildin’ past the outdoor amphitheatre, and we’ll get you all settled with a meal, your accommodations, and your schedule.”

He watched her as she spoke, having never seen a Wayahan before; her eyes were wide and shiny in the way an oil-slick gets in the light. She had beautiful hair that looked like happy, healthy green moss growing and flowing in a stream, and big branch-like antlers on her head that had bark like Athpen trees. From these antlers she had a few silvery strands of fine chain and small, mirrored charms that glinted and glimmered as she moved. These matched the earrings she had in her big, almond-shaped and fuzzy ears and the necklace around her tufted neck. She sounded like a singer herself, her words clear and bright, and her tone measured and delightfully mid-range. “Great,” he said, sort of unsure what else to say as she shuffled around and produced a big envelope and a beautiful, gilded Froak leaf on a leather lanyard for him.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with your work,” she said. “But you’ve been murmured about and from what I hear you’ve got a set I shouldn’t miss.”

“Oh, gee, now, I’m not anyone too special, at least by my lonesome. My partner oughta be here soon. You see, I’m a little bit country and he’s a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, so without him, I’m just me.”

“I see. Well, we’ll have his badge and lanyard here when he arrives.”

“You’ll know him when you see him, he ain’t hard to miss. You’ve got some great performers comin’ this year, though, and it ought to be a real good show all around, seems like!” Tumbleweed smiled at her, and thanked her graciously, and she came out from the small booth to let him through the gate. He watched as she gracefully stepped over on all four of her long, fuzzy, hooven legs, more mirrored jewelry hanging from the floral fabric and ribbons she wore and then took a moment to bow, taking Hat off for this. “Can I ask your name, ma’am? You’ve been awful helpful and I’d like to let the folks in charge know, because it never hurts to help, especially when you’re right good at it. And of course, if I happen to run into you again.”

She laughed. “Well, thank you. My name is Geraldine. You’re sure to find a lot of kindness here on Ferryharp, Mr. Tumbleweed. And you’re sure to see me again, I’ll be around. Enjoy the festival. Enjoy your stay!”

He made his way through the beautiful property, past an ancient brick home overrun with ivy and with a lawn dotted by rusted farming equipment in between all of the trees. There was a small barn-like structure off to the left where a crew of a couple of Blygaps was setting up some sound equipment, and nearby were a couple of food trucks, parked but not set up just yet. Tumbleweed rounded the bend and saw signs to his left that led down a little trail through the trees to the outdoor amphitheatre, and he took a moment to stop off and wander on down it to take a look. Rows of rock slabs created some seating closer to the stage but for the most part a lot of the amphitheatre space was grassy lawn, shaded by the trees. Flowers and long grass sprouted here and there, and he waved at the varied crew down on the big wooden stage working on the sound equipment there. They waved back and waved him down to say hello and shake hands, introduce themselves. Such eager and kind volunteers. It wasn’t hard to tell that this was going to be a great event.

Upon heading back up the small trail on the other side of the amphitheatre, he passed through more volunteer space, and everyone sure was glad to give him a handshake, a wave, or even a booming “Howdy” if their hands were full carrying equipment. He stopped to help pick up and re-wrap a fallen cord, and as the crewmember thanked him, someone behind him hollered his name.

“Tumbleweed! Tumbleweed, hullo, it’s Ashby Duncanon,” said the elder Swatanian, his bright, tie-dyed shirt ensuring he wasn’t to be missed as one of the top event coordinators.

“Mr. Duncanon! Sir, it’s an honor to be here, thank you so much for inviting me. I can’t tell you how nice of a trip it’s been, and how beautiful Ferryharp is. I just can’t.” Tumbleweed went in for a hug, and big, kind Ashby patted him on the back.

“Come on over, Edin’s been dying to see you since I told her you were headed out this way.” They went up to the large, artful and more modern building, and before he could even see her, Ashby’s wife Edin popped up from her chair behind one of the tables under the canopies outside the building’s entrance, and came over to greet them, her own colorful shirt dyed more earthen tones.

“Same ol’ Tumbleweed,” she said, hugging him tightly.

Tumbleweed took a moment to just step back and admire the both of them with a great big smile. “Boy, you two have not changed a bit, either, look at you.”

“Oh, hush, now,” said Edin, her pale yellow skin turning a slight shade of coral. She pointed at her hair, soft lilac and full of the little violet flowers that had been growing in the lawn of the amphitheatre. “You see this ol’ silver streak here? I thought for sure Ashby would start this up before me. Probably don’t help that he’s the one causin’ this, but that’s okay. I’m feedin’ him a bit more than I oughta,” she said, prodding her husband in the side a bit.

Ashby laughed, and said, rubbing at his bearded face, “Honestly I’m finally starting to see it in my beard, but she don’t say a thing. I think she’s losin’ her eyesight.”

“‘Course I don’t tell you that. But you notice I’m tellin’ you more and more how handsome you’re finally getting.”

“Which is why I think you’re losin’ your eyesight,” he said, and they shared a laugh, and asked him if he’d eaten yet, that lunch for the volunteers and performers was just about set up out back behind the building and they were getting ready to grab a bite themselves.

When he had stopped over at that Bloyd’s for pancakes and coffee and to get the latest news on some solar flare flooding that was blocking a good upcoming portion of the trail he was working his way along, he saw the young couple in the parking lot with the broken flam-converter in their little coupe, and he knew he was in for an adventure. They did, too. “Trail Magic,” Edin called it. They fixed the little ship up in no time, and Tumbleweed rode along with them down the longest stretch of the by-way along the blocked bit of the Trapperlachian Route, happy to trade in some perilous camping for the kind company, if a bit sad to miss some of the sign-in sites tucked away along the trail.

Turned out they were eloping, having finished their degrees on the planet they’d left and were celebrating by taking in some sights and hoping to get married when they felt they’d reached a good turn-around point. Tumbleweed offered his services, and at the point of the Route where they parted, he officiated a quiet little ceremony for them in the presence of some other travelers that were ready to welcome him alongside them in their own journey.

They reconnected on Spacebook a good, long time later, and to his surprise they’d helped establish a music festival on Ferryharp, and that was that, and here he was. Of course, it had been a while since he’d traveled the Route, so he decided to work the trip around this event.

They helped him settle into the camping site for his stay, still perplexed and entertained by how sustainable his Hat was, and he sat about practicing for a bit, before heading back out to see if he could help the volunteer crew while waiting for his accompaniment to arrive.

And arrive it did, the next morning.

Over breakfast, there were the sound of klaxons through the woods. Tumbleweed sat at the table quietly, with a little smile on his face, as everyone else around him expressed concern at this. Once he was done with his coffee, he set off to go approach the massive spaceship that had landed aways off. Ashby and a few other coordinators were ready to go with him, but he asked them to stay. He’d be back. That was his buddy out there making a fuss and he ought to be the one to ask him to quiet it down a bit. The crowd that had gathered watched him as he left, confused and unsure why this little orange star nomad was headed off to stop the surprise planetary invasion that the newswaves were just reporting in on.

“Major Threat has landed in Boilin’ Springs amidst the local music festival,” someone was reading from their phone.

“Well, dag, it sure is a good place for him to start, innit?” someone else asked.

“What’re we gonna do, Duncanon? People are gonna start turnin’ away from here if they already know, and if they don’t, we’re walkin’ them right into a hostage situation.”

“Tumbleweed says he knows him. I don’t know, to be honest.” Ashby put an arm around Edin and she pulled him close.

In the woods, Tumbleweed was making his way to the ship, hoping to get Captain Inkers to shut the alarms off because they were just so jarring and unnecessary. And gratefully, it was Inkers he ran into first upon approaching the landing site, blaster at the ready and hollering in between the klaxons. “Good mornin’,” Tumbleweed yelled, waving excitedly and hoping to catch the Captain’s attention. “Good mornin’, Mr. Inkers! Boy, I sure was hopin’ you’d’ve been in last night but I’m real glad y’all made it anyhow!”

Inkers turned and tried to fix his blaster on the interloper as quick as he could, but it was too late - Tumbleweed had nabbed him in a hug.

“Hey, Mr. Inkers, while I got you right here can I ask if you’d turn off those sirens? They’re a mite loud. It’s makin’ it tough to concentrate, if you know what I mean.”

Inkers shoved him away, waved back up at the ship until the klaxons stopped, and then shook a finger at Tumbleweed. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Well…. Okay? Do you need help? Where’s Jeff?” There was a bit of a ringing in Tumbleweed’s ears but he was sure it’d go away in a minute. “Thank you for turnin’ those off.”

“You are the reason I’m here in this backwater planet system! Do you know how hard it’s been to keep our ship stocked out this way? It’s nigh impossible! You’re lucky this is recon work or I’d have had this little mudflat flattened even further before we even entertained entering it’s atmosphere!” He stopped for a moment, huffing and puffing, and then he said, “Major Threat is aboard the ship and honestly I’m going to be too busy trying to figure out where to find saltwater here to stop him from doing whatever it is you’re going to distract him into doing. So.”

There was a pause, and then the Captain ordered him aboard the ship.

He went quickly. Partially because he wanted to be out of the way of the ground teams and partially because he was just so excited to see Jeff.

“Please don’t call me that,” the villain grumbled at him as Tumbleweed untangled himself from the big hug he’d tackled him in.

“I’m sorry, buddy-”

“Please don’t call me that, either.”

“-I’m just so glad you could make it, it’s gonna be a heck of a humdinger and I didn’t want you to miss it. You’re just so good at what you do that it would be a shame if I had to play without you. And the best part is that Mr. Inkers is ready to let you have the stay here to do whatever you want! Isn’t that great? He’s such a good guy, that Mr. Inkers.”

Major Threat looked down at him, very obviously tired out from this leg of the grand chase Tumbleweed had been dragging them along on through the Trapperlachian Route, and not really in the mood to fight back on any shenanigans the weirdo had planned. So he grabbed his favorite guitar and instructed Inkers to hold down the fort while he was out doing this stupid thing Tumbleweed wanted him to do.

“....Where is it exactly that you’re going, sir?”

“Oh, there’s a music festival just on the far side of where those trees end over that way. Couple days’ worth of music and food.”

“So we’re near civilization?”

“I’m sure if we put a call out for provisions the people comin’ to the festival would be more than happy to get y’all stocked. It never hurts to help, you know? And these people are right good at it.” Tumbleweed told the Captain, who facepalmed with a soft, sticky smack sound.

Sure enough, they were, and there was little hesitation about it. The arrangement was struck that Major Threat and his army were to leave the strand of worlds along the Route well enough alone as he’d already made it this far without actually conquering anything (thanks to Tumbleweed), so it wouldn’t be too hard for an uprising of the remainder to come and stop him from claiming what was left on the trail. Ashby and several others shook hands with him on this, and welcomed him to Ferryharp and the festival, putting Geraldine in charge of assisting Inkers in making a list of supplies they would need, and helping him get that in from the town just a bit south of the festival grounds.

“Goodness, Mr. Tumbleweed, you were right. They ain’t hard to miss at all,” she said, and gave them a bit of a bow, glittering and glimmering. She gave Inkers a big smile and assured him they would get everything taken care of. He seemed a bit smitten by her.

“Jeff-”

“Please stop calling me that,” Jeff said, dead-panned, while fielding the festival schedule from Tumbleweed.

“-I felt like this time we needed to go by the actual name of the band instead of what we used the last time we were playin’.”

“You mean we’re going by The Warlocks this time?”

“No… the other actual name of the band. Let’s get you your badge and get to practicin’. We’ve got a good amount of time until our first set but everyone else has gotta get back to breakfast so they can get this festival runnin’. I wanna make sure you remember how some of these ‘grassy tunes go, and make sure I’m gettin’ some of your rock stuff right, too.” Tumbleweed approached Ashby and Edin again, and the three of them looked back at Jeff, who looked at the crowd of volunteers (all of whom now looked so much more at ease than they had been earlier, and very curious as well, as to how this musical duo was going to sound once on stage), and then followed them, adjusting the strap of his guitar.


End file.
